


A Hook for an Eye

by parisian_girl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/pseuds/parisian_girl
Summary: The dress is certainly lethal.....but Jack has never been one to turn down a challenge. The "missing scene" from the end of s2e5 Murder a la Mode.





	A Hook for an Eye

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess I have only myself to blame for this, since I pretty much gave myself the prompt on Tumblr! For those of you who didn't see the original post, it was a still of Phryne from the last scene in Murder a la Mode, along with my theory that Jack only turned down the "lethal dress" because he couldn't figure out how to get into it and a note saying how much I wanted to write that scene. Since so many people then commented and messaged me basically saying "do it!"....and since I had a day off today with nothing to do except lie in the sun and write.....well, it would have been rude not to ;). Short, sharp and un-betaed as usual, and I haven't written any kind of smut for a very long time, so be gentle with me on that! And while the quote at the beginning obviously isn't from Phryne's era, I thought she would probably have approved :).

_“Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it.” ~ Yves Saint Laurent._

 

***

 

“ _I’ll never again dismiss the fashion world as frivolous. It all looks harmless enough, but you never know what lurks beneath.”_

_“Usually lingerie.”_

_“Equally dangerous.”_

_“And just one dress can be lethal. Nightcap?”_

The word hung in the air between them like smoke, the air perfectly still and the hallway completely quiet. She didn’t even want to breathe in case she disturbed something, and so she waited, her eyes never leaving his. It wasn’t an unusual invitation between them, not any more, but tonight was different and they both knew it. Tonight, she was asking for much more than a nightcap.

“Perhaps another time. At a less dangerous hour.” His voice was a husky rumble, and she could have sworn his eyes were darker than they had been a moment ago. “In a less lethal dress.”

 _Dear Jack_. She smiled inwardly, and took a step down the staircase towards him. Tonight certainly was different.

Tonight, she wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

“ _Jack_.” She used his first name deliberately, drawing out the syllable on her tongue as she took another step as gracefully as her dress would allow. “Are you saying I own a dress that _isn’t_ lethal?”

“Far be it from me to pass comment on a lady’s wardrobe, Miss Fisher.” She snorted and he smiled, that gorgeous lopsided hint of a smile that always, God help her, made her stomach flip. “But...”

He paused. His eyes slowly pulled away from hers, leaving her skin prickling with the most delicious goosebumps in their wake as they ran down her neck, along each of the delicately beaded straps that draped across her shoulders and chest, down to the silk neckline with its delicate chiffon-and-lace overlay, all the way over the orange chiffon bustle that trailed behind her like peacock feathers.

_If his eyes could do that….._

She swallowed involuntarily at the thought.

“But what, Jack?” She raised her eyebrows and his eyes lifted to hers, dark and sensual meeting green and sparkling. “Are you saying that this _particular_ dress is….for some reason….stopping you staying for a drink?”

His quick blink told her that he had registered her meaning, but his reply was deadpan.

“I don’t want to risk another murder when Madame Fleurí finds a stain from a spilled glass of whisky. How did you persuade her to let you wear it home, anyway? I thought it was part of the new collection?”

“It was.” She shimmied her shoulders in an imitation of her movements at the fashion show earlier in the evening, and sensed his intake of breath as hundreds of tiny black beads caught the low light from the hall lamp. “Until I bought it.”

“You bought it.” He nodded slowly. _That smile again._ “Of course you did.”

“So there really is no getting away from it.”

“Getting away from what, Miss Fisher? The fact that your wardrobe probably now passes for a fairly large armoury?”

She chuckled softly, and took another step down. She was now back on a level with him, orange chiffon flaring up the staircase behind her, and the soft light cast shadows between them that melted away all sense of space and time.

“That too. But more the fact that you, Jack Robinson…” She paused, and lifted one finger to trail lightly down the lapel of his jacket. “…have just refused to stay for a drink because this dress is too… _dangerous_ …despite the fact that you’ll undoubtedly be seeing it again.”

She felt him swallow.

“It’s not that.”

“Really?” She raised her finger again, this time to the other lapel. “Then perhaps it’s the idea of lingerie underneath the dress putting you off? We did just agree that was equally dangerous, after all….”

She let her voice trail away into the quiet of the hallway as her finger dropped, waiting to see if he would pick her up and deposit her firmly back over the line that she had just demolished. She saw his struggle reflected in his eyes - _those deep, beautiful eyes_ \- but still she waited, for what seemed like seconds drawn out into hours.

“Is that a challenge or a threat, Miss Fisher?”

“Neither." She heard her own voice, husky and soft. “A promise."

“And you’re a woman of your word."

“Always.”

She closed her eyes as he tentatively raised one hand, allowing his fingers to brush through her hair. His scent - earthy and slightly spicy and so very _Jack_ \- filled her senses and she inhaled deeply, losing herself in a haze that was only broken by a deft, gentle tug just above her left ear.

“Well, that bit wasn’t so difficult.”

She opened her eyes to see him laying the feathered orange fascinator carefully on the hall table, a small but satisfied smirk on his face, and she raised her eyebrows.

“You haven’t got to the tricky bit yet.”

He turned back to face her and she felt his hands near hers, skin teasing skin but not quite taking hold, and she shivered.

“Am I going to be tackling the tricky bit?”

“That’s up to you, Jack.” She wanted him to. Dear God, she wanted him to, but she never begged. Not even for Jack Robinson. “But…”

He silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“Or are you going to help me out?”

Her lips spread in a slow smile under his finger, before she kissed it softly and took hold of it with her own. He had large hands. She’d noticed that before. She’d actually spent many a pleasant hour daydreaming about what those hands might be capable of, but the one thing she hadn’t thought of was the simple feeling, as his fingers clasped perfectly around hers, of having come home.

“You’re a detective, Jack”. Her reply was almost a whisper as his lips grazed hers, right where his finger had been. “I’m sure you can work it out.”

  
***

  
Her whole body felt like it was on fire.

The memories of those first kisses in the hallway were already faint, although she had no doubt they would come back to her later. She hoped they would. She wanted to remember every detail of that first proper touch of his lips on hers, slightly rough with pent-up desire, and yet so much more confident and practiced than she had ever imagined. She wanted to remember the way his tongue had demanded her mouth, the kisses he had dropped along her jawline and the dip of that tongue into her ear while his hands had roamed freely over the straps of the dress, each bead lovingly fingered while his fingers only brushed her skin, driving her almost crazy. Now, though, all her attention was taken by his lips, which were following the path his hands had taken earlier. Hot, light kisses were being dropped around every bead as he finally allowed himself to explore - her or the dress or both, she wasn’t certain and didn’t really care - and it was only by a supreme effort that she managed to breathe out a few words into some kind of sentence.

“Bed, Jack.” She felt him smile against her neck, and she used all of her willpower to cup his face with her hands and lift his head to meet her lips. “Please.”

He was, she noticed with some satisfaction, just as far gone. She didn’t think she had ever seen him look so utterly _delicious_ , with darkened eyes and slightly ragged breath, and a smudge of lipstick on the corner of his mouth which she took great pleasure in kissing off before she turned to head up the stairs. She felt his eyes on her back as she climbed, taking in every inch of her that he could, and she took her time. She knew exactly what the dress revealed and she wanted him to feast on it. She was also shaky, but whether from excitement, or desire, or nerves, she couldn’t tell.

She wasn’t used to that when taking a man to her bed, and it unsettled her more with every step she took.

At the door to her boudoir, she paused without turning around.

“Jack…”

“Shhh.” She felt his hands on her shoulders, the warmth of his body beside and slightly behind her - probably, she thought wryly, the only place he could stand with the bustle in the way - and she allowed herself to relax a bit as his lips pressed softly against her cheek. “Please, Phryne.”

The realisation that he wasn’t going to back out, and that he wanted this just as much as she did, made her moan softly. His lips caught the sound, capturing her own as his hand turned her head to face him, and she blindly reached for the door knob, sending them both staggering slightly as the door opened and they shifted through into the softly lit room. She had a vague awareness that the bed had been turned down, the curtains drawn, and that an extra towel had been discreetly placed on the chair. Of course, it had probably been blindingly obvious to everyone, but she found she didn’t really care about that either. That was the beauty of having staff that felt like family…but her slightly dazed and rambling thoughts were cut short as Jack nudged the door shut with his foot, and drew her in properly for a searingly tender kiss that wiped everything from her mind except how good he felt.

This time, she didn't stop him. All her nerves were forgotten as his lips and fingers wandered freely over the dress, over her skin, over the beads, mapping the contours of her body and the luxurious fabric that held it. His mouth felt hot on her pale skin, following his hands as they traced every line, every curve of delicate embroidery, every thin strap. Her whole world contracted to the feel of him. The scent of him. The quiet rustle of chiffon and the soft glaze of silk. She wanted more - she definitely wanted more - but _god_ , this was so exquisite….

“Aha”.

His murmur was quiet, his satisfaction rumbling against her skin as his fingers found the simple hook-and-eye fastening that held the straps of the dress together at the back of her neck. She barely felt him slip it apart, so delicate was his touch, and she gasped softly as the straps cascaded from her back and neck around her arms.

“Very good, Inspector”.

“Mmm-hmmm”. His lips were busy tracing the outline of her collarbone, now freed from the straps, and she tilted her head back with a small sigh.

“But you do realise I now can’t move my arms? At least until you…ah….”

“Work out the rest?” He nodded, and trailed his lips up her neck, revelling in the bead-free expanse of skin that stretched all the way up to her earlobe. His gentle, tentative nibble sent sparks all the way down her back, and he chuckled softly as her shiver of pleasure became obvious. “Then I might not try too hard. Once in a lifetime opportunity…I doubt you’ll ever allow yourself to be compromised like this again.”

“Jack Robinson, if you dare….”

“Is that a challenge, Miss Fisher?”

“No, more of a threat.” She lifted one leg to hook around the back of his thigh, pulling him even closer so that she could rock her hips against his. A soft hiss escaped him as he pressed back, not even attempting to hide his arousal. “But I can’t help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“You’ve trapped my arms now. And I’ll have far more fun watching you try to figure it out…. _god_ , Jack”. She groaned as his fingers found her hardened nipple beneath the dress, the rub of silk on the sensitive flesh and the promise of his skin on hers almost too much to bear. “Hurry it up, though, please?”

The low rumble of his laugh made her clench her thighs. She could feel her own moisture hot on the inside of her leg, and she resisted the urge to grab hold of his hand and place it there, to hell with the beads and the dress. She wanted him to know exactly what he was doing to her.

“Patience is not your strong point, is it?”

_I’ve been patient long enough for this, Jack._

She didn’t realise she had spoken the words out loud until she saw his eyes darken to a deep inky black that she had never seen before, and felt the heat of his fingers press hard against her breast. She arched into it, her breath hitching at the feel of him, and gasped as she felt his other hand slip around her back. She felt the slight scratch of his nails as he ran his fingers slowly, deliberately, up and down her exposed spine, along the top seam of the dress, dipping down below the silk and making her shiver, only to withdraw and follow the line of her shoulder blades, tracing each vertebrae until she thought she would go mad.

Maybe she could help him out, just a little. Because as delightful as this was….

“ _Jack_ …”

Her voice trailed off as he let his hand drop from her breast and stepped behind her, and her eyes closed as she felt lips follow hands. His fingers were everywhere now, over her back and her hips, and she gave up and let herself ride the sensations that were flooding through her, allowing herself to be carried on his touch, his kisses, the gentle caresses through the silk of the dress. She felt safe. Loved. As if she could stay up high there forever and not come down.

“Phryne?”

His low voice against the back of her neck made her shiver again, and she tilted her head in a vague response.

“You might need to help me out with this.”

She felt a gentle tug on the orange bustle, and smiled. He obviously wasn’t as ignorant as he claimed to be, if he had worked out that it came apart from the dress, but she also knew that he was tacitly asking her permission. The bustle was, after all, fastened at a very particular point.

“Here.” She reached behind her to take hold of his hands, guiding them down to the small of her back underneath the massive bow of chiffon. “There's a clasp.”

His deft fingers - surprisingly deft, she thought, considering how large his hands were - found what they were both searching for, and she felt the release as the mass of orange material slid to the floor, leaving her feeling almost naked in the slip of black material that was left as the dress itself. But then his mouth was pressed against the exact spot where the clasp had been, hot lips and cool silk. His fingers were running up her legs, caressing her calves, her knees, her ankles, her thighs. She knew he had to be kneeling behind her, and the thought made her almost giddy. She felt her feet being urged from the silver heels, the hem of the dress being lifted to allow his lips brief access to the backs of her knees before he let it drop again and turned her around to face him, rising to his feet as he did so.

She shrugged the straps of the dress back up her shoulders and rested her hands on his arms to steady herself, the look in his eyes threatening to send her over an edge that she hadn’t realised she was riding.

“You are so beautiful, Phryne.”

Such simple words that she had heard so many times before, and yet from him they had the power to shatter her completely.

She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t find the words to tell him what he was making her feel, how beautiful he himself was, how much she wanted him, and so she settled for running her hands over his jacket instead. She had intended to push it off quickly - after all, it was hardly fair that he was still fully clothed - but she found herself almost mesmerised by the material. It wasn’t expensive or luxurious in any way, and yet it was soft. Well worn but well cut. Sensual. She caught the faint scent of spice in the fibres, and she allowed her fingers to drift, relishing the feel of the light tweed and the promise of him underneath it. The lining, she noticed, was muted but very well sewn, and there was no label. She wondered, briefly, if Rosie had made it for him.

“My mother has too much time on her hands”.

He sounded shy, almost embarrassed, but her unspoken question had obviously shown in her face and she smiled in acknowledgement, her touch letting him know that she wouldn’t have minded but that she was grateful.

Grateful, more than anything, that he had understood her enough to answer.

Gently, she pushed it off his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. Neither of them made any move to pick it up, and she turned her attentions to the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fingers were quick now, her touch urgent, and she never faltered even as his lips took hers in a deep, rough kiss that betrayed how impatient he was becoming too. The waistcoat went the same way as the jacket, the shirt after that, and then she was kissing his chest, his neck, his collarbone, her lips searing his skin just as his had marked hers, and she delighted in the feel of him, how responsive he was. The brush of her lips against a particularly sensitive spot drew a low growl, the touch of her fingers a muttered curse. And then, finally, even she could stand it no longer.

Pulling away just enough for him to see her properly, she let the straps fall back down her arms and turned around, silently asking him to undo the dress. His hands had roamed far enough that she knew he had already found the fastenings hidden underneath the embroidery that ran down her spine, but still he took his time, slowing the pace right down and fingering each clasp gently, almost reverently, tracing the skin that was revealed as the dress slowly parted. She couldn’t help it. She whimpered, pressing her hips back against him, and she could almost sense his smile.

“I believe this is your challenge, Miss Fisher”.

 _To take it slow_ …..dear God, the man was going to kill her.

“I appreciate a slow burn as much as anyone, Jack, but….”

“But what?” He pressed his mouth to a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear, his fingers hovering just over the last clasp, and she all but wriggled in anticipation. “I’ll only get this chance once.”

“You mean….” She let her head tilt back onto his shoulder, opening her neck to his caresses. “You really only want to do this once?”

“No”. His lips were hot on her ear, and she felt the last clasp give under his fingers. “But I’m quite sure you’ll make the next challenge much harder. I doubt I’ll succeed a second time, so I plan to enjoy this small victory.”

She barely noticed as the straps finally slid from her arms, the silk pooling at her feet and the beads tinkling as they hit the floor. All she heard was his sharp intake of breath as he realised what she wore underneath.

“The dress didn’t allow for lingerie.”

“Ah.” His arms slipped around her from behind, his hands finally covering her breasts skin on skin, and she moaned at the contact. “All in the name of fashion?”

She turned to face him, and caught his lips in a hungry, deep kiss that left no room for interpretation. The slow burn was over.

“Not just for fashion.”

Her hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers, and he raised one eyebrow.

“But definitely for your own good. Madame Fleurí does a very good line in lingerie, but it’s even more…. _complicated_ , shall we say, than her dresses. And I didn’t want to give you two challenges at once.”

“Then I’m very grateful to Madame Fleurí for making lingerie that’s too much hassle to wear.”

“Don’t be. I was just…”

But her retort that she had just been saving it for another time and that he hadn’t escaped that easily was lost, as he chose that moment to lower his mouth to her breast and all words left her. Giving in to his touch, his lips, his pace, she had only one thought left - how grateful she was that he had worked out the dress.

She had had a considerable amount of help getting into it earlier. Getting out of it by herself would have been downright impossible.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did use lots of internet photos, along with the opinion of a dressmaker friend, as to the material of the dress and how Phryne might have gotten in / out of it! But we might have been way off. Just put it down to artistic licence. 
> 
> Also, I do appreciate that I've marked this story complete, but left it hanging at what might be considered a crucial moment....as I said, I haven't written smut for a while. So if anyone feels called to write a continuation, feel free...


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